


Not in love

by succubae



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Gen, HE'S NOT GA-, M/M, gary is not gay, he totally is, oh fuck it, this is not what it looks like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 20:47:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2595908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/succubae/pseuds/succubae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two canon scenes from In the Flesh, seen from Gary's POV.</p><p>Why is Gary so obsessed with Kieren? How deep does this obessesion of his go? One thing for sure: you won't hear him admit it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not in love

**Author's Note:**

> Also inspired by this amazing fanvid which you should all go see, whether you like this ship or not: [(x)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Y6kelvIxgE)
> 
>  
> 
> I want to thank for the beta reading and amazing support: [Amy](http://www.amydyersgreatblueyonder.tumblr.com), [Peter](http://www.catchingspace.tumblr.com), [Kamine](http://www.exdisciplesimonmonroe.tumblr.com)  
> Also, for giving me some more ideas: [Rick](http://www.theundeadsiren.tumblr.com)  
> Go follow them for more ITF and Emmett Scanlan stuff ;)

It irritated Gary, this obsession of his. He wouldn't, _couldn_ 't accept it. So he went for the next best thing he found, a hasty decision he made when he took the bracelet from Henry's body. He was less ashamed of stealing the last act of love a boy would make, to use it to win Jem’s heart, than accept the reason why he was doing this in the first place.

Seemed like all the last events had been leading him to this. He got Jem nicely drunk and pliant on some chap’s money, himself nearly as inebriated, hoping he’d get a free meal and some action later on. Plans fell apart when he got inside the house, when he saw Simon and Kieren side by side. Oh, but he would play along this farce, he would. At least he thought so, until Sue started to talk about the fete and Maxine wanting to have a stand to commemorate the Rising. Gary couldn’t believe his ears. Ungrateful weaklings, they were, all of them! When the rabids had come to haunt their village, they had locked the doors and shut their eyes in fear. He was a hero then, when he saved them from the brain eating, foul smelling monsters. Now they had them sit at the same table with them, pretending that everything was fine.

They were going to hear him whether they wanted or not, he thought, as he started to vividly describe that one time at Kitson’s place. Steve was trying to stop him, the bloody sod, but he played dumb.

“This rabid, this PDS sufferer...” he corrected himself with a fake sympathetic tone, and looked at Kieren for the first time since he sat down. The boy looked aggravated.

Sitting at the same table with him, with them why was the Irish rotter having lunch with Sue and Steve anyway? Was this some sort of gettoknow the boyfriend meal? Gary had long since suspected that Kieren was seeing the Irish. It made him sick, the thought of those fiendish bodies touching. Did they do it like the living did? Did their pleasure present itself in the form of that thick, dark liquid that they disgorged every single time he'd stab or shoot one of them? Secretly, Gary loved that. He got high on that black, viscose mass erupting from the carcasses. He tried to inflict a non fatal wound to the rabids he caught, just to see more of that fluid. Not that killing them wasn’t a gratification, but that was a pleasure he didn't indulge in these days. He wished he did though, especially when he heard that Irish rotter say: ‘Leave it.’ As in, “he’s not worth it”. Thankfully, Kieren did not stop.

“I killed people too.” The boy’s voice trembled a little. Gary wasn’t sure which tone he liked better, when he whispered in hate or raised his tone in absolution. Different levels of fear, he said. Something Gary could understand, yet not fully, for he crushed fear with violence. Different levels of shame then.

Then Kieren left and the thrill stopped. There was no point in anything he did or didn’t do, playing with Jem or Maxine held no importance unless Kieren was there to see.

Gary had loved it when the boy took his insults in silence, in the schoolyard, during lunch time, Rick laughing along, but he had also loved Kieren screaming at him. That was the only reaction he’d ever get now and he knew it, howling (his dulcet voice, so sweet) and violence (his back throbbed, in remembrance of falling over that table in the pub). Gary would take anything at this point. He took the sister, after all.

He took the knife with him that day. He prayed to this God he had never believed in, prayed and prayed to hide his shame and loathing. He had to be on the right side of this. God, real or not, could not be in favor of what was not even alive. Gary lived for that confirmation and if he couldn’t have that, he would settle for having that boy submit to him.

Maxine ordered him not to act, but that was not how the war was won, so Gary decided to find Simon and stop him. _Excuses, excuses,_ he thought as he entered into the Walker’s house. _What lies will you have to invent next time Gaz?_

Seeing Kieren on his knees, right in front of him when he opened the door, gave him that thrill he had been looking for. Gary had imagined it for so long: his fingers buzzed and he felt heady. Wanting to touch, to soil, to be soiled from that cold, blue body. Suddenly he wanted everything that he had denied himself for all those years. Rick Macy had nothing on him. War veteran, hah! Try fighting against rabids. If Kieren hadn't died, he would have been following Gary around like Jem had, probably more than her; the boy was a wuss. He had to be publicly humiliated to take a swing at him in the pub, and that one time when he had bit him in order to keep him away from Amy. (There was no day that Gary wasn't thankful that Kieren was a man of his word.) Before and in spite of these these exceptional occasions, Gary would swear Kieren wouldn't hurt a fly. A sweet, unassuming child he had been, back when they were kids. Kieren would have been grateful, a damsel in distress, maybe his damsel in distress if he had played the cards right. Or maybe not. There was always someone else better than him, like Rick or Simon. It wasn’t about the whole being "out" thing or having big brains, Rick was enough proof of that. Definitely about the looks then, which he sadly lacked in comparison. As for the rest, _“No brain or brawn, this boy...”_ , as his mumma used to say about him.

Gary felt the shame and the thrill when he secured the boy’s hands. He felt the thrill when his body betrayed him in response to Kieren’s wiry frame. For a second he panicked. He didn’t know how much that icy skin could feel. Maybe he had noticed. _Trying to stop the second rising Gary? It seems like you should worry about your own rising down there._

Kieren either didn't notice or didn't care.

'You think I wanted to see the things I saw?' he asked him. Gary had to make Kieren see reason, his reasons.

'You get off on all that shit, Gary.' he spat right back, a cocky smile on his face. Of course, the cheeky bastard was only talking about his past problems with the law. He used to have a short temper as a kid, and Gary was thankful no one had understood why. Why he was the school bully, why he picked on the fair haired, skinny lads. Why when no one could see him, he would come in this house to look at what Kieren had drawn. No one had ever questioned his actions for more than what they appeared to be.

It was always about the thrill.

But the war was over and he was not satisfied. He needed proof, he needed some truths but all he found was more strange drawings, some of them so old he recalled seeing them, and a few new ones. They were of that rebel girl, Amy, in different styles, some pretty, some unnerving. He picked one in charcoal, the material known to him because Kieren had done one for Vicky in what felt like ages ago. It would smudge under his hand, he remembered. The thin paper was a rather detailed rendition of Simon. Gary was no artist, but he could tell from the soft lines around the eyes, from the way the lines became denser around the mouth. He was not dumb, like they had repeatedly told him throughout his schooldays. Kieren was in _love_.

Why did the Irish rotter deserve this drawing more than him? What had he done so great in life, except for dying and popping up from the grave? Gary was a hero. He had saved so many people, he had survived in that hell. He was entitled to some sympathy, but he knew deep down, he did not deserve any. He did not want any either. What he wanted, no one knew.

Those pleading eyes were fixed on him, reminding him of the girlfriend he didn't care for, of times when spiked irises like those would make his heart race in fear and of earlier times still, when he wished them to just _look_ at him. Gary emptied more drawers, searching, until he found the answer he had been looking in the form of a small blue bottle. Gary knew Kieren would never use it, it had to be Simon’s, but he couldn’t forgive. _This is the man you have chosen to follow,_ he thought. _Pay for him._

In the end, it had always been about the thrill. What he could not have, he would destroy.

 

“A rotter’s a rotter. Drug or no drug.”


End file.
